there's beauty in the breakdown
by keem
Summary: Drabble. “It’s—it’s okay, Rangiku,” Hitsugaya says, a little uncertainly, but his arms are strong and sure. Slight Hitsugaya/Matsumoto. R&R.


**there's beauty in the breakdown**

--

In the aftermath of their betrayal, Matsumoto feels nothing. As vice-captain of the 10th division, she has specific duties to carry out before she can crumble beneath the weight of her own feeble human emotions. She has Ryoka to interrogate, botched relationships to mend, investigative procedures to conduct, and so the matter of Gin and all his idiosyncrasies are pushed temporarily out of the forefront of her mind. The rest of the afternoon goes past in a blur of noise and color as Matsumoto numbly goes from one assigned task to the next.

It's only until later, when Matsumoto finds herself holed up in the office of the 10th division, that she finds the solitude to grieve. With only the stacks of paperwork adorning her already cluttered desk to bear witness, she at last succumbs to tears.

Matsumoto feels silly and girlish for giving into her more basic human emotions. She hasn't cried in a long time—hasn't cried since her days in poverty, since the first time she met Gin. They had grown distant over their time as Soul Reapers, but Matsumoto has always nurtured a spot of deep affection for the pale-haired, talented young man. They had fought together, fucked one another, and—or so Matsumoto thought—loved one another.

But now, Gin was gone, and Matsumoto was wondering how much of what she knew of the pale-haired captain was true, and which parts, well, _weren't_. Aizen was able to call forth illusions from his sword-tip, but Gin—the man himself—was an illusion. She wanted so desperately to think that Aizen had somehow manipulated the other man into bending to his will, but deep down inside she knew that Gin was far too clever and strong of character—although whatever character that may be—to fall for that.

He went on his own free will.

And so Matsumoto clears her desk full of debri with one violent sweep of her sword-arm. Papers swirl around in the air around her in a hurricane of turbulent movement, obscuring Matsumoto's features before she buries her head into the crook of her arm. After everything settles, her office remains quiet and still for quite some time. How long she stays like that, head anchored by the cushion of her arms, great chest heaving, she doesn't know. She does not move from the position until much later, when the sound of faint footsteps draws her attention to the door.

She looks up with a tear-streaked face to see her captain silhouetted in the doorway, more paperwork tucked under his arm. He looks around the room disapprovingly, to the chaos she has created in her anguish, before his eyes finally settle on her. Those brilliant blue optics—usually so haughty, frigid like the dragon-spirit he calls forth from his sword—actually soften somewhat at the state of her.

For a moment nobody speaks, as the two of them regard each other silently. Matsumoto finally regains some kind of sense and drags the back of her black sleeve across her face to wipe away some of the tears. She knows she must look like a wreck, and she suddenly feels embarrassed for her lack of composure.

"I-I'm sorry," she murmurs, turning away.

Hitsugaya heaves a great sigh, about-faces, and leaves the room. He returns a half-beat later, closes the gap between them and sets down his stack of paperwork he had brought. With his other hand he holds an enormous jug of sake which he offers to Matsumoto.

"I don't usually condone drinking on the job," Hitsugaya says gruffly, as the sake passes hands. It looks much more normal in her own—admittedly much larger—ones; makes the notion of drinking seem so much less delinquent, more acceptable than when her captain is holding it. Sometimes even Matsumoto herself as to remind herself that Hitsugaya is, in fact, not a child. "But you never listen to me anyway, and I understand that you could probably use a break."

"Do you want some?" Matsumoto asks, setting the jug down on the table before producing two cups from underneath her desk. Hitsugaya shakes his head dismissively, arms folded across his petite frame.

"I'm not going to ask why you have shot glasses hidden in your desk for," he says, a little incredulously. Matsumoto shrugs, pours two glasses anyway, and immediately takes one shot, and then the other. It burns all the way going down.

"Matsumoto!" Hitsugaya admonishes, unable to help himself this time. "Have you no sense of restraint?"

She's already chased the first two down with a third before she falters. "Y-you're right," she says feebly, setting the empty glass down. She looks to her captain with big, watery eyes, suddenly ashamed with herself. "I—" She can't say anymore; she's too near tears.

Hitsugaya takes a step back. "H-hey—don't," he says, putting up his hands, unsure how to proceed. The sight of Matsumoto's misery unsettles him; he's never seen her in such a state before. "I'm sorry, you can do whatever you want! I—"

Matsumoto turns away and takes her head in her hands again. She hears Hitsugaya falter, and then take a deep breath, as though steeling himself for something. Suddenly, there are thin, unfamiliar arms around her.

"It's—it's okay, Rangiku," Hitsugaya says, a little uncertainly, but his arms are strong and sure. Matsumoto figured why not, leans into his embrace and breathes in the scent of his hair. Up close the strands are pale and faintly bluish-purple, and Matsumoto immediately thinks of Gin. This only makes her cry harder but Hitsugaya still refuses to waver, his arms wrapped securely—if not awkwardly—around her.

It takes much longer for Matsumoto to stop this time around, but Hitsugaya remains patient and vigilant. When she's finally through, her whole body feels heavy and tired. "I-I'm sorry," she murmurs, at last gently pulling free from his embrace. Hitsugaya looks relieved—and a little unsure, as though he expects his vice-captain to begin bawling again at any moment.

"I'm okay," she assures him, and when Hitsugaya raises a skeptical eyebrow, she reaches out and grasps him by the arm. "Really, I am." She tries to smile, but it's hard, and her captain at last relents, nodding.

"Okay." Those cold eyes dart around, as though half-expecting to find someone watching in on them from the shadows. Softer this time, he continues, "I was just going to say that—that if you weren't…" He pauses, glances once behind them before dropping his voice to a stage whisper, "that it would be okay."

She's touched—and a little taken aback—by his sensitivity here. "I think I'm good now." The grin comes much easier now as she adds slyly, "I didn't know you _cared_, Shiro-chan."

"Don't call me that!" Hitsugaya snaps, actually blushing a little. "Well, I just want you to get it out _now_," he tells her, a little too quickly and indignantly for her to be convinced. "Instead of being a blubbering mess tomorrow. It's bad for company morale."

_I can see that this was very taxing on you_, Matsumoto thinks wryly, and reaches to fill her glass.

"No, I think you've had enough," Hitsugaya says tersely, snatching the jug away from her before she can pour herself another. Matsumoto gives her a cross look, an expression that her captain very pointedly ignored. "I'm going to bed now," he says, supporting the now half-empty sake jug in the crook of his arm. "Maybe you should, too."

"Thank you. I think I will." If were any night other than tonight, Hitsugaya would be gone before she even got the words out. But this time he waits patiently, watches as she returns her two cups to their hidey-holes and rises fluidly out of her chair.

"You're falling out your top, Matsumoto," Hitsugaya says blandly, shaking his head as he turns around. Matsumoto absently adjusts the front of her kimono as she follows him out the door, blowing out the candles as they go.


End file.
